crackled, the farm manager said, “Hey, Juan? Come on
in, bo.”
Immediately, one of the tractors broke off and headed
in their direction.
Before it reached them, though, Dwight’s own phone
buzzed again.
“Hey, Major?” Denning said. “You might want to get
back over here. We’ve found Harris’s car. I think we’ve
also found the slaughterhouse.”
157
C H A P T E R
18
Dwight Bryant
Monday Afternoon, March 6
% Sid Lomax followed Dwight and Jack Jamison
back to a cluster of outbuildings, which were
screened from sight of the farmhouse and garage by a
thick row of tall evergreen trees and bushes. In addition
to the usual shelters, several of the sheds held special-
ized equipment for the different crops. The two trucks
pulled up in front of a shed where Richards was already
cordoning the place off with a roll of Denning’s yellow
crime scene tape. This shed was built for utility, not
beauty: a concrete slab flush with the ground, steel
studs, steel framing, a tinned roof that sloped from front
to back, no windows. One of the tall double doors stood
open and gave enough light to see that a silver BMW
was parked inside.
158
HARD ROW
“What’s this shed used for?” Dwight asked Lomax as
they walked closer.
“It’s where we store the tomato sprayers, but we sent
them on to the other farms before Christmas because
we’re going to grow beans here this year. It’s supposed
to be empty right now.”
“Watch where you put your feet and don’t touch any-
thing,” Richards cautioned him as he started to follow
them inside.
Not that there was that much to touch. The car was
the only object of any size in a space designed to hold at
least two large pieces of machinery.
As they entered, Dwight paused and examined the
door fastenings. The hasp was a hinged steel strap that
slotted over a sturdy steel staple meant to hold a pad-
lock and secure the strap. A wooden peg hung from a
